


Incorrigible

by draculard



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Arthur Conan Doyle Pastiche, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Complicated Slutty Flirting, Humor, Jealousy, M/M, Main relationship is Holmes/Watson I promise, Pre-Relationship, Sherlock is a Size Queen, Size Difference, Size Kink, Watson in Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 15:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20156008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Holmes and Watson are captured by a brick shithouse of a villain, and unfortunately, Holmes is a slut about it.





	Incorrigible

It was most peculiar, dear reader, to see Holmes in such a fluster. That giant Cockney fiend had him pinned to the wall, his hands held in a vice-like grip vertical above his head, and there was almost certainly nothing Holmes could do to free himself. I watched from afar, tied mercilessly to a straight-backed chair.

I could not help. I could only witness.

The giant pressed himself close to Holmes, so close I feared that he may crush my dearest friend with his formidable weight. While I knew Holmes could typically defend himself in any fight, his lanky frame looked almost helpless in comparison to this muscle-bound lout. He struggled against his bonds, but the giant held him still without effort.

It was then that Holmes’s lean face grew flushed. I suspected he had realized the futility of his situation. 

“You like this, eh?” the monster growled. I could scarcely comprehend his ghoulish words! Poor Holmes closed his eyes and turned his face away. 

He uttered my name so softly I almost missed it. “Watson…”

I felt myself growing flushed to match him, a sharing of our mutual humiliation. He helpless and I incapable of rescue, and neither of us accustomed to such a dreadful situation! 

“My dear Holmes—” I began, and stopped with the taste of bile on my tongue when the giant mocked me, repeating _ My dear Holmes _ in the most puerile of tones. He tightened his grip on Holmes’s wrists, and I could faintly hear the sound of his bones grinding together. I thrashed against my bonds, longing to escape, but they were tied expertly and did not give.

“Holmes!” I spoke urgently — quickly — for I could see him sinking into despair. “Gregson and the rest will be here forthwith. We must not lose courage. We left the most clarion of trails behind us; it is only a matter of—”

“Take me,” Holmes whispered to the giant, his voice soft and needy. I stuttered to a halt; I could make out just enough of the monster’s half-formed face to see that he was smirking. 

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” he said. How the great beast could have seen this coming was most obscure to me; I was still reeling, speechless, from the words out of Holmes’s mouth. I watched in disbelief as Holmes, bound and helpless, maneuvered himself against the wall so that he could grind his hips against the giant’s massive thigh.

_ This must be an escape plan, _I told myself, averting my eyes. Still, the rush of embarrassment and exasperation I felt could not be brushed away. I had been Holmes’s dearest friend for many years now, and I’d unfortunately witnessed the way he blushed and flirted around men of a certain size. He could scarcely seem to help himself some days. 

“Holmes,” I said, with a bit of a bite to my tone, “Gregson and the rest will be here _ forthwith_.”

The words were the same; the meaning could not have been more different. Holmes ignored me, preferring instead to give the giant a coquettish look from beneath his eyelashes.

“You’re really rather large, aren’t you?” he said, evidently unaware of just how inane this sentence was.

I could not help the angry sigh which escaped me. “Is this _ really _ the time?” I asked.

“Aye, you know I am,” said the giant to Holmes, as though I had not spoken. He put his enormous hands on Holmes’s waist and lifted him without effort; to my intense embarrassment, Holmes responded by wrapping his legs around the giant for support.

“For God’s sake,” I muttered. My ankles were tied to the legs of my chair; experimentally, I attempted to lift myself up on my toes and spin the chair around, so as to remove this heinous sight from my line of vision.

It did not work. I only succeeded in losing my balance and crashing back down on the front legs.

“Call me Daddy,” the giant instructed Holmes.

“Oh, don’t,” I said. With my left hand, I felt a splinter in the wood of my chair and desperately attempted to break it off. It would make an adequate makeshift knife with which to cut my bonds.

I concentrated very hard on ignoring Holmes, who was saying something with two syllables that rhymed with “caddy.” I spared him a quick glance at the sound of a distressed moan, and saw to my dismay that he was pink with excitement, his arms wrapped around the giant’s massive neck.

Wait.

“Are you _ untied?” _ I asked.

“Unfortunately,” Holmes pouted, not bothering to look my way. At this point, dear reader, I was so overcome with rage that I fear my thoughts were incoherent. I could not possibly put them to paper. 

“Holmes,” I ground out when I recovered myself, “your incorrigible size kink is a detriment to your character and an embarrassment to our friendship.”

“Oh, Watson,” said Holmes, “calm yourself. I find you attractive enough, small as you are.”

“I’m _ bigger _ than you,” I said, unable to properly address the injustice of his words. The giant let go of Holmes’s waist briefly to unbuckle his trousers and I renewed my efforts to saw through the ropes at my wrists using the long, thick splinter from the chair. 

I felt the outermost fibers of the rope snap. It was then that Holmes’s words truly registered with me:

_ I find you attractive, _ he said. 

I felt my face flush. My embarrassment was keen. It was unlike Holmes to misread a situation so dreadfully; I was not _ jealous _ of him, nor did I envy the giant’s position. Certainly not. I was merely concerned for my dear friend’s reputation, as Gregson and his men were sure to be here soon. If they caught Holmes in such a position, his dignity would never recover.

Yet it was clear that Holmes himself could not be reasoned with.

That left me only the giant.

“Giant,” I said.

“Magnus,” the giant corrected me, almost absently. His face was buried in Holmes’s neck and I suspected he was doing unspeakable things with his teeth.

“Magnus,” I said, “I will give you all the money in my wallet if you desist.”

He turned his head ever-so-slightly, eliciting a noise from Holmes which turned my ears red. “I shall take the money in your wallet regardless,” he said.

Right.

“Then I must appeal to your sense of decency,” I said, rather hopelessly. With the splinter, I managed to shred another row of fiber. “Surely you would not proposition a man engaged.”

The giant made a big show of examining Holmes’s unadorned ring finger. Then he made an even bigger show of sucking on it. 

“Of course, he wears no ring,” I said, averting my eyes once more. “Our relationship is perhaps the deepest secret either of us hold.”

Was this presumptuous of me, dear reader? I suppose it was. Holmes and I, of course, were not romantically involved. Yet my words had the desired effect on both Holmes and the ludicrously-named giant; they froze, each of them turning his head to look at me. The giant appeared unimpressed.

But Holmes’s eyes were wide.

“Watson,” he said, “what nonsense is this?”

I tried not to blush too deeply. I had almost completely severed the ropes wound ‘round my wrists. 

“‘Tisn’t nonsense at all, Holmes,” I said. I felt quite incapable of meeting his eyes, yet I could not look away. “You deduced it yourself, after all. Is this not all some elaborate plan of yours to inspire a confession of my true feelings?”

I suspected it was not in any way a plan, but Holmes could never resist taking credit for such things, once the idea had been presented.

“Of course,” he said softly, and to my intense relief, he relaxed his grip on the giant. He unwrapped his legs from ‘round the giant’s waist and stepped away, and the giant was too startled to react.

By the time I fully severed my bonds, Holmes had reached me and laid his cool, dry palm against my cheek. I felt myself turning a most concerning shade of red.

“I never thought it would work,” said Holmes wonderingly. “I believed you too studiously obtuse to react in jealousy.”

“Ah, my dear Holmes,” I said through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the insult. Behind Holmes, the giant finally caught up with the situation and scowled, buckling his trousers once again. I shook the ropes off my hands and bent forward to work on those around my ankles.

Holmes stepped back, allowing me the space to work, but remained close enough to rest his hand upon my shoulder. I found his touch uncommonly gentle.

I found myself hoping this wasn’t all an act.

“Magnus,” said Holmes to the giant, “I believe I hear the footsteps of Scotland Yard approaching. You’d best be on your way.”

The fiend escaped silently, obeying Holmes without a word. I glanced up from my now-untied ankles and understood in a heartbeat what had transpired.

It was an act. All of it. The villainous Magnus was no more than one of Holmes’s hired hands. The situation itself was entirely fabricated. It was nothing more than an entertaining diversion for a bored Sherlock Holmes to pass his day.

_ But to what end? _ said a treasonous voice in my head, and I remembered Holmes’s words from earlier: _ I never thought it would work. _

_ I find you attractive. _

“Blast it, Holmes,” I muttered. I too could hear Gregson’s footsteps pounding on the cobblestones outside. There would be no time to discuss this situation now. 

My only comfort was that, by the time Gregson hurried ‘round the corner, Holmes was blushing just as furiously as I.


End file.
